In the Midst of Callousness 11 (Patreon)

In the Midst of Callousness
Chapter 11

-VB-

Joseph was a project.

I was honest enough to admit that.

The boy wanted to be more than what he was right now, and I was willing to help him. The cost, however, would be his willingness to endure some of my … less than ethical experimentations. Sorry, not experiments, because that would imply that it wasn't proven. No, what Joseph signed up for was a proven procedure.

Let's call it an augmentation that just happened to be very painful.

I don’t intend to harm the teenager. Quite the contrary, I wanted to see what a normal human could do when trained and armed with the better armaments that the Factory could provide.

“FFFUUUCCCCKKKKK!!!”

It’s just that it’s impossible for an average human to fight on even ground with even lesser capes.

A good example of this would be the case of Street Cleaner, a non-parahuman vigilante from Austin, Texas. He was before my time - before I was dropped into the wrong universe and setting. He did his best, using guns and sheer human ingenuity to fight against the rising parahuman crime of the 90s. He did not succeed when he ran into a low-tier Brute/Mover combo who could shrug off bullets and run faster than he could escape.

This was normally the case, especially so if the non-parahuman in question used guns. Using guns with lethal intent usually got retaliation in return right off the bat. On top of that, it was breaking the Unwritten Rules, which made civilian identity also a non-factor.

Joseph here would die if I just equipped him with a few of my tinkertech.

If I intended to truly experiment with how much my Factory can boost an individual, I needed to test out what the Factory considered “good enough.” Joseph, being the normal teenager that he was, accepted without even deeply thinking about what he was truly getting himself into.

So right now, he thrashed and screamed on top of an operating table because, despite having more than enough morphine to knock him out, the pain was conceptual enough that he couldn’t fall unconscious and kept him awake in agony as the Factory gleefully provided me the materials I needed to convert a teenage hero hopeful into … well, someone who could become a hero.

Joseph’s schedule was straightforward. He slept six hours a day, went to school for eight, adjusted to his ever-changing body for four, went home to his family for dinner, and spent the rest of the time being “improved.”

“And done.”

The boy gasped as he scrunched up on top of the table before relaxing as, I assumed, the last of the pains left him.

He got up and glared at me, but didn’t complain at all. Instead, he rubbed his raw wrists after I undid the straps and let him test out the latest improvement to his body.

“Try it out,” I said as I stepped aside and gestured to a warhammer.

Calling the weapon I gestured to as a warhammer understated it. Its thick branch-like shaft could easily hold an elephant and the hammer end of the weapon weighed in at one metric ton. This thing was not a weapon of precision but of comical destruction. A single swing of this warhammer could, in theory, take out a small skyscraper.

Joseph walked up to it.

Before he went through his first procedure, he couldn’t even budge it. The first procedure gave him enough strength to nudge it. Now, he finished up his seventh. Joseph looked at the hammer, his eyebrows scrunching up while his curly hair dripped with sweat.

“Try it out,” I urged him again.

The second try had him budging the thing an inch. The fourth had to lift it for a second before he dropped it.

He took a deep breath in. I could see the trembles in his body. He went through a shocking experience with the invasive surgery and modifications, but this was not his first rodeo. It was actually his choice to do this every time he went through the procedures. It was his confirmation that the torture he went through was not in vain. That the pain he took on was not some sick game I was playing on him.

In place of the lanky and almost boney teenager who asked me to help him, a man with muscles hewn of steel and bones stronger than diamond stood, facing the one obstacle he hadn’t been able to overcome.

He reached out with both of his hands and grabbed the shaft at shoulder width.

And then he braced himself. I saw his biceps and traps pulling, his knees bending, and his thighs bulging.

With his reddening face, he glared at the warhammer and roared as he pulled it up.

And it lifted.

He held it above his head and stared at it in shock.

“... I don’t believe it.”

“Hmm?” I asked him.

He dropped the hammer and winced when it put a crack on the floor. “Yeah, see that? It has to be a lighter version of the first warhammer you had me try to push around. Where’s the real thing, Bastard?”

Joseph also grew flippant and ballsy. It probably had to do with the fact that I’ve tortured him at his own request.

“That is the real thing. In fact, nothing has changed.”

I picked up the warhammer and walked over to an industrial weigher. I set the hammer down gently and watched as the analog numbers skyrocket.

And settled at just a little over one metric ton.

He stared at it, gasping from exertion.

“... But the difference between this procedure and the last…?”

I laughed. “The last six procedures were all but preparation for this one, Joseph. This one was the procedure you asked for. If I gave you this right off the bat, then you would have exploded.”

Still heaving and gasping but slowly coming down, he stared at the warhammer.

“It was … so light,” he spoke in shock. “A literal metric ton of steel, and it was so light.”

I laughed. “Welcome to the world of real parahumans, Joe. This is where it gets interesting.”

I saw his eyes widen and a shiver run up and down his body.

Why wouldn’t he be tense?

Those were the same words I used before I subjected him to the torturous augmentation.

“Oh yes, it will get even more interesting,” I chuckled and his face paled.

You better be glad, Joe, because while I am stuck here in the Factory working on your ass, I’m not doing the good I could be out there.

‘I am going to be angry if you are not worth the time investment.’